To Badger a Lion
by Seraphine Gearhardt
Summary: In an instant they were surrounded by a dozen hooded figures, materializing out of the fog, their putrid stench and rattling breath filling the air. His mother's familiar screams rang in Harry's head once more. His vision clouded as the dementors swooped in, his stomach heaved, and he felt Cedric's grip tighten firmly around his chest.
1. A Foretelling

**_Foreword: After several years, I want to try my hand at another CedricxHarry piece. I'll try my darnest to update this as often as possible, but sometimes I have trouble with motivation or get stuck on a specific scene, so please be patient with me! As always, all copyrights belong to the brilliant Joanne Rowling and affiliates. Please bear with me as I briefly introduce an original character that may or may not be important later._**

* * *

It was several hours past midnight and Teddy sat twirling his wand at the smoldering ashes of the common room fire. Odd shapes smoked out of the crackling, blackened wood. He liked to pretend that they represented real omens, that he was a true Seer and that the fire unlocked for him alone the secrets of the future. It was rumored that those chosen by silver lime wands had been born with an innate talent for all manner of Divination and the obscure art of Legilimency. He had little interest in mind-reading; he often thought of how disastrous it would be if his own private thoughts were on display, and wished that upon no one else. But he thought he would rather enjoy the status that came with being one of those very rare individuals able to "pierce the veiled mysteries of the Beyond."

He wasn't quite certain what to make of Professor Trelawney or her flamboyant lectures. There was something almost comical about her that betrayed the air of mystique she clearly wished to project, and Professor McGonagall had come very close to outing her as a fraud. He wished he could believe that Professor Dumbledore would not employ someone unlearned in her own subject, but the previous year's Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had been an absolute disaster.

Sleep at the appropriate hours had been difficult to come by the past couple of weeks. Teddy had wanted to try his hand at a Sleeping Draught, but _Magical Draughts and Potions_ listed dreamlessness as one of the side-effects, and he'd been assigned a dream diary by Professor Trelawney that he wanted to be authentic.

He began to teeter groggily in the yellow armchair as the first bluish beams of dawn broke through the circular windows overhead, three or so hours before he was due in Charms. The fire had died completely, and his vision was largely unfocused when a familiar voice called his name.

"How come you're up so early?" it said. Teddy gave a start and tumbled out of the armchair. His head hit the edge of the coffee table, throbbing in protest. When the haze began to clear, he realized he was being helped to his feet.

And then he staggered again, and this time it had nothing to do with the blow to his head, or with Cedric Diggory's absurdly good looks. The air around the Seeker was a deathly green shimmer, as though a dying emerald sun were glinting behind him. Dark, strangely twisting shadows danced around him, and in an instant, they were gone, the greenish glow vanished, and the common room was thrown into semidarkness again.

"Are you alright?" Teddy heard Cedric ask, but he sounded so very distant. He was trying to convince himself that it had been a trick of the emerging sunlight, of the brief numbing of his senses, an inevitable fever-dream brought on by weeks of sleepless nights. It seemed all too possible, but something about it had been eerily, frighteningly real.

"Ouch, you're bleeding. Hold on." Cedric's wand seemed to materialize out of thin air. He gave it two tiny waves, and when Teddy felt at his temple there was neither wound nor blood. "Sorry, I didn't think you were asleep."

"No, it was my fault," Teddy assured him, a little shakily. He was having trouble meeting his eyes for fear of seeing it again. "I just—I fell asleep here reading a book."

Cedric's eyes scanned his surroundings, and there was a slightly uncomfortable silence when he found no sign of any book.

"You're pretty pale," he said finally. "You sure I can't take you to Madam Pomfrey? I'm not really the best healer."

Teddy had just registered that Cedric was dressed in his canary yellow Quidditch robes, his Thunderbolt perched under his arm. The news that he had become captain of the Hufflepuff team and a prefect simultaneously had made him quite popular this year beyond just his House.

"I just need to lie down for a bit," Teddy said, forcing himself to smile. "I think I had a funny nightmare. Good luck at practice!"

"Thanks. I'll see ya. Rest up!"

And Teddy watched him go through the rounded barrel-lid passageway and out of the common room.

—

It was midafternoon, and shafts of icy sunlight streamed in through the hospital wing's high vaulted windows. Harry was fidgeting groggily in his bed, to which he'd been confined by a most implacable Madam Pomfrey. He was slicked in a cold sweat, and the grainy linen sheets clung uncomfortably to his bare chest. In his stupor, he reached instinctively for his wand on the bedside table, and a chill went through him when he grasped only air. His mind cleared, and he remembered falling, remembered his shattered broomstick, remembered his first Quidditch defeat in three years. His eyes stung with the sudden rush of tears. He wiped them away hastily at a gentle knock on the oak doors.

He heard Madam Pomfrey whispering crossly moments later, and a hushed voice answering back reassuringly. Finally, she let out a long, resigned sigh, and he heard her say clearly, "Five minutes."

A tall, broad-shouldered fifth year eased into the infirmary. He wore a fur-lined winter cloak with silver fastenings over his school robes. There was a rosy flush in his cheeks, and his dark hair glittered with a dusting of snow.

"Hi, Harry," Cedric said as he approached Harry's sickbed. He deposited what seemed to be Honeydukes sweets and beribboned get-well cards on the empty nightstand, making himself comfortable on a nearby three-legged stool. "They're from a few Hufflepuffs," he added when Harry eyed them quizzically. "Everyone's pretty upset about what happened. They send their best."

"Yeah, thanks," Harry said, a bit more ungraciously than he'd intended. He was a little thrown by this unexpected visit from someone with whom he'd had very little interaction before outside of competitive Quidditch. "A few people came by to say you'd offered to replay the match," he added conversationally.

"I meant that, really," Cedric said gravely. "If the dementors hadn't—"

Harry cut across him. "You won fair and square; it's done."

"Is there no chance of repairing your Nimbus?"

Harry shook his head, and the image of the Whomping Willow crushing his broomstick crept back painfully into his mind. He reached deliberately for one of the chocolate frogs for something to do.

"Roderick Plumpton," Cedric said cheerily when Harry opened it to reveal the famous wizards card within. "That's one of my favorites."

The lithe figure of Roderick Plumpton zoomed around a Quidditch pitch in his tiny frame, swathed in the navy blue robes of the Tutshill Tornadoes. He paused to smile up at Harry, handsomely windswept and gray-eyed.

"He kinda looks like you," Harry said without thinking, biting off his chocolate frog's head.

Cedric laughed politely. "Well, he was a much better player, that's for sure. I've been trying to do the Plumpton Pass since I was seven. Oh, that reminds me."

He reached within his robes and retrieved a small book bound in scarlet leather with golden lettering on the cover. It had the appearance of a well-loved heirloom that had been read many times.

"They said you might be in for a few days, so I brought you my _Quidditch Through the Ages_ copy. It was the only thing that kept me sane when I was stuck here my first year."

"What happened?" asked Harry, who had a funny little feeling that Cedric had not needed to be reminded of the book.

"I dueled a Slytherin fourth year who said Eldritch Diggory faked dragon pox to get out of being Minister of Magic when times got tough. Old ancestor, you know," he shrugged. "It was stupid, but I was eleven. Spent a week here with flesh-eating fungi growing out of my—well, let's just say it was a long week."

Harry chortled, and the chocolate frog's ribcage lodged itself in his throat. Tears swam in his eyes for the second time as he leaned forward, thumping his chest vigorously. Cedric did the same on his back. He spat out the frog at last and it leapt away feebly, robbed of both legs and head.

"You okay?" Cedric's palm felt warm between his shoulder blades despite the seasonal chill.

Harry nodded and made an odd grunting noise in response. He wiped away a trickle of saliva from the corner of his mouth surreptitiously, strangely aware that Cedric was watching him. At that moment, Madam Pomfrey's head poked out of her office door, and she threw Cedric a sharp look over the rim of her plum-colored glasses. Cedric stood up very quickly and inclined his head toward her.

"I'm late for Transfiguration anyway," he whispered to Harry. "If you never see me again, tell my parents McGonagall turned me into a sundial."

They both chuckled, and Cedric gathered his cloak about him and ambled out of the infirmary with a parting wave. Harry stared at the closed doors for a long time afterward before he caught himself. He opened _Quidditch Through the Ages_ to the inside cover, lined with lavender felt, where the words "Property of Cedric Diggory" had been scribbled in red ink. He traced the loopy script absently with his index finger.

From where it had been carelessly discarded among the bed sheets, the gray-eyed likeness of Roderick Plumpton winked slyly at him.


	2. The Firebolt

The Shooting Star's splintery shaft seemed to vibrate whenever Harry inclined it upward. The broom had a tendency to veer left, whatever his commands, and if the soreness in his rear was any indication, it had been at least half a century since the Cushioning Charm on it had been reinforced.

The cloudless sky was a sheet of clear lilac. Harry caught sight of the Golden Snitch, reflecting the last rays of sunlight, fluttering idly by the eastern hoops. It was a sun all of its own, and he made no attempts to seize it. He had languished all through practice, bemoaning the loss of his Nimbus, and by the time they exited the changing rooms, the rest of the team seemed to have been infected by his malcontent.

"You need to trust your fellow Chasers, Alicia," Oliver was saying, sounding as though he were speaking to a very ill patient. "We'll never beat Ravenclaw without proper teamwork. And Harry, I know you're still upset about the Nimbus, and the Shooting Star's a piece of goblin dung..."

But Harry had stopped listening. Seven silhouettes were approaching the Quidditch pitch under cover of night as the Gryffindors made their way back to the castle. Harry thought convulsively of dementors, but as they came closer, there was no mistaking the broomsticks on their shoulders, nor the distinctly strapping profile of Cedric Diggory.

"Bit late for practice, isn't it, Diggory?" Oliver piped up, unable to keep the tone of accusation from his voice.

"We've had some trouble with Flint sending first-year Slytherins to spy on us during the day," Cedric replied, betraying no hint that he had registered Oliver's frostiness. "Madam Hooch and Professor Sprout are allowing us to use the field after hours."

"Hmm, well then, we'll leave you to it," Oliver said curtly. He continued up the muddy trail and motioned for his team to follow.

It seemed to Harry that his shoelace had come undone, however, and he hung back to secure it within his sneakers.

"Why don't you guys get started, I'll be right down," he heard Cedric say. His pulse quickened at the sound of approaching footsteps for reasons he could not fathom.

"Hi, Harry."

"Oh, hi, Cedric," Harry said, straightening up and readjusting his glasses on the ridge of his nose.

"How are you feeling?"

"Hmm?"

"You know, since the—last match."

"Oh, yeah," he chuckled. "I had to wrestle a bit with Madam Pomfrey before she'd let me leave, but I should be fine now."

"Good, I'm glad," Cedric said, his smile genial. "Did you enjoy the book?"

"Thanks, I did. Hang on..." He rummaged in his drawstring bag, at last retrieving the leather-bound copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_, and made to hand it to Cedric.

"Keep it. I have it memorized. Must've read it twelve times last year alone."

Harry hesitated. After a few moments Cedric himself returned the book to the depths of Harry's bag, sealing it tightly for good measure. Harry was glad for the gloom as color flooded his cheeks.

"Is that a new broom?" he asked, glad for a new topic, indicating the bit of wood just visible over Cedric's shoulder.

"Oh, it's nothing," Cedric said, and he seemed to shift the broom further out of sight. Spots of pink began to appear on his own cheeks.

"Come on, let's see it," Harry whined, reaching for the handle. Cedric's hand immediately closed around his wrist. The force of it made him blink.

"Sorry, reflex," he mumbled, letting go of Harry's arm, and slowly he unhooked the strap and brought forth the broom, the dark, polished wood glimmering in the emerging starlight.

"You got a Firebolt!" Harry recognized the exquisite model from the display case he'd seen at Diagon Alley in July. It looked no less expensive now than it had then.

"Dad bought it as a congratulations for—for winning our first match of the year," Cedric said, his mumbling growing more severe. "Tacky, isn't it? No Hogwarts Quidditch player needs a world-class racing broom like this. I told him it was ridiculous."

"I think it's brilliant," Harry breathed, caressing the decidedly un-splintery shaft.

"Yeah? You should let me take you for a spin."

Harry's head snapped up; his eyes locked onto Cedric's.

"Really?"

"Well, I have a planning session scheduled for after practice today, but can you come down next week, around eleven?"

Harry moved his mouth so as to say, "Yeah, absolutely!", but no sound escaped him.

"I think I could make it look like I gave you detention," Cedric said, scratching his lower lip, "but I'm not sure I'd be allowed to keep you so late. And you would still have to get past the dementors..."

"I can make it," Harry assured him. "Don't worry."

Cedric gave him a long, searching look, until finally another smile split his features and he said, "Alright, then we have a date!" And he laughed with great gusto as though he'd told a fine joke.

Harry waved goodbye and raced up the path to catch up to the rest of his team, but by the time he'd reached the entrance steps, only Professor Snape was standing guard at the doors. A shapeless cloud of silver vapor patrolled the space between him and the twin dementors.

"Late, Potter," he sneered. "Ten points from Gryffindor." But Harry didn't care. As soon as he was out of sight he picked up speed again, skipping several steps on his way up to Gryffindor Tower.

The common room was empty save for a head of bushy brown hair on an armchair by the fire. Hermione had fallen asleep with her face buried in _Numerology and Grammatica_. He squeezed himself into the bit of armchair she wasn't occupying, and she awoke with a start.

"It wasn't me!" she squeaked, her eyes wild.

"What wasn't you?" Harry asked.

"Oh, Harry, thank God," she said, clutching her chest and breathing heavily. "I thought I... What's up with your face?"

"What's wrong with my face?"

"I recognize that look from the way Filch looks at Mrs. Norris," she said, peering beadily into his eyes, her nose inches from his. "Are you quite alright? I knew Madam Pomfrey should've kept you longer."

"I'm fine!" he said, barely suppressing his giddiness. "I ran into Cedric Diggory again at the pitch. He's got a Firebolt, Hermione. I'm gonna ride it."

"You're going to ride Cedric Diggory?"

"His broom!"

"Oh!" She clapped a hand to her mouth, shaking with what Harry assumed were her own suppressed giggles. "The _broom_ Firebolt. Got it."

He threw her a very nasty look and bounded up the winding stairs to the boys' dormitory. She was still snorting merrily into _Numerology and Grammatica_ when he reached the top.

Ron, Neville, Dean, and Seamus were fast asleep when he entered, the furnace whirring and emitting puffs of wispy smoke at the center of the room. Once in his four-poster bed, Harry reached into his drawstring bag and withdrew Cedric's dog-eared _Quidditch Through the Ages_. Within his compact little bedside table, he found a suitably neat space for it, squarely on top of the freshly printed copy Hagrid had given him during his first year.


	3. Expecto Patronum

Harry listened for the phlegmy snores that usually heralded Neville's descent into sleep. Often they came to him whether or not he was on alert for them, but the heavy rain drumming against the dormitory windows threatened to overwhelm all else. He was absently fingering the length of his wand, itching to dash out of his four-poster. An image came to him unbidden of Cedric standing alone by the Quidditch pitch, soaked through, wondering whether Harry had forgotten...

He dug carefully into his trunk until his fingers found the silky fabric of the Invisibility Cloak. It had been a while since he'd ventured out under it without Ron or Hermione, and he marveled at how effortlessly it shrouded him alone.

Once again, he found the common room deserted save for Hermione, who in the past week had been much more lucid than on the night he'd found her dozing off by the fire. She had been warning rather severely against this particular escapade, and had dropped more than one hint that she would not hesitate to tip off McGonagall if he went through with it. In spite of his many reassurances, it was clear that she had not been prepared to trust him, and had planted herself firmly in the armchair nearest to the Fat Lady's portrait.

"My God, Hermione, why can't you butt out just this once!"

Once she recovered from the shock of his emergence, she adopted that look of frenzied desperation Harry had come to know so well.

"Harry, please, _please_ think about what you're doing," she whispered. "This isn't about breaking some silly school rule. Not only are the grounds crawling with dementors, there's a crazy murderer running free who could be hiding out in the forest as we speak!"

"Don't be ridic—"

"You promised Mr. Weasley you wouldn't go looking for trouble."

"Hermione, I'll be fine, I'll be with Cedric."

Her expression softened considerably at the sound of the name. Had Harry betrayed some secret emotion by mentioning him? Hermione had always been too perceptive for comfort.

"Okay," she said after a long pause. "Alright, Harry. If there's absolutely nothing I can say that will change your mind—"

"There's not."

She raised her arms in defeat and quirked her lips in a maddeningly superior way, as a mother might regarding the wayward child who thought he knew best.

He rolled his eyes at her, slipped the Cloak back over his head, and climbed out of the portrait hole.

He had to tiptoe around Mrs. Norris on the sixth floor, who always gave him the impression that she could see through magical concealment, and he passed Snape near the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom engrossed in conversation with the Bloody Baron, but in large part his excursion was largely unobstructed until he reached the Entrance Hall, where Professor Sprout stood guard at the oak doors, flanked by the twin dementors. What looked like a silver hummingbird flitted between her and the hooded figures. He had not given it much thought with Snape the previous week, perhaps because he had not been up to mischief then, but now he wondered whether the misty guardians worked as some kind of stealth sensor.

Just as he began to question how in the world he was going to get Sprout to budge, she made him jump by calling out merrily into the frosty darkness, and over her broad shoulder he could see the outlines of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, trundling up the road toward the castle steps.

"Where are Mr. Diggory and Miss Chang?" she asked, scanning the group.

"They're rounding up a couple of rogue Bludgers," said a red-haired girl Harry recognized as Maxine O'Flaherty, Beater. "Cedric said they won't be more than a few minutes."

Sprout grunted, standing aside to grant the team entry. Harry scarcely had time to register that the Ravenclaw Seeker was involved in Hufflepuff practices. He managed to slip past the team as they filed in, and not until he was well beyond earshot did he let out a gasping breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

It was no longer raining when he reached the Quidditch pitch. He stuffed the wet Invisibility Cloak within his robes. It made no visible swelling, a testament to the quality of the material from which it'd been crafted.

The door to the Hufflepuff changing room was ajar, a sliver of warm golden light spilling out into the darkness. Harry approached, frosted grass crunching beneath his winter slippers, guided by the sound of hushed whispers from within. He pushed in, and his breath caught again.

The petite figure of Cho Chang was wrapped around Cedric Diggory's lithe, half-bared body, their lips locked in an ardent kiss. His fingers raked the underside of her hair, and the passion of their encounter staggered Harry. It was several moments before either of them noticed him.

"Harry!" Cedric said breathlessly, breaking away from Cho. She looked away, embarrassed, and busied herself with her bag. "I'm sorry, Harry, I—I forgot you were coming tonight."

"Don't be stupid. I shouldn't have come—"

"Please, don't go," Cedric said. The note of sincerity in his voice rooted Harry as he turned to leave. "I was really looking forward to tonight." He fastened his winter cloak around his neck, oblivious to his still-naked chest, and whispered to Cho, "Will you tell Professor Sprout that I'll be sleeping here for the night? Tell her I'm working on strategy, she'll understand."

Cho nodded silently and gave Harry an uncomfortable half-smile as she sped past him and into the grounds, cheeks ablaze. Cedric was dabbing at his lips with the back of his hand, removing traces of smeared lipstick.

"We're not usually that, er—" he chuckled uncomfortably.

Harry gave a small, dismissive shake of his head. "I should have knocked."

"You couldn't have known," Cedric said. "She was only here tonight as part of her detention for Professor Sprout."

"Oh?"

There was a small pause. "Got caught sneaking out of our common room."

"Ah," Harry said slowly, looking straight at Cedric. He looked like some boy king from the far north, with his clear gray eyes and the fur cloak draped around his bare, pink shoulders. He spoke again after another brief silence.

"Well, I hope you're still up for it then, it's a bit chilly."

"Are you sure you don't want to wear, er—something?" Harry said, with a stab at gaiety. He felt strangely hollow.

"I'll be alright," Cedric assured him, drawing his wand. "I like the cold, plus you'll be in front, so you can be my little shield. _Accio Firebolt!_"

The broom soared across the locker room and stationed itself gingerly in the space between the boys. Cedric grabbed it and motioned for Harry to follow him out. It seemed to Harry that he had planned several topics of conversation on his way down from Gryffindor Tower, yet somehow they all evaded him now. They came to stand at the very center of the pitch, engulfed in complete darkness, when Cedric made to hand him the broom. Harry hesitated.

"What's wrong?" Cedric asked.

"Maybe this wasn't a good idea," Harry said, looking at his feet. "I don't want you to get into trouble on my account."

"Don't worry about that, who's gonna find out?"

Harry shrugged.

"Don't make me use my prefect voice, Mr. Potter." The smirk on Cedric's face reminded Harry reflexively of Draco Malfoy. The distinction between their characters was such that Harry's own lips cracked into an open smile.

Cedric straddled the broom and drummed happily on his thighs, encouraging Harry to mount in front of him. Harry obeyed with an exaggerated sigh, still smiling. The shaft, richly dark and glittering in the starlight, felt silkier than even the Nimbus's had. The broom veered upward at the lightest touch, and before Harry knew it they were level with tallest hoop. Cedric's sinewy arms snaked around Harry's waist. His spine shivered.

They rose beyond the pitch, beyond the towering stands and into the night. Despite its overwhelming speed, the Firebolt proved easy to maneuver. When he learned to trust its movements, he became dangerously reckless with his daring twists and loops. He could scarcely hear Cedric's shouts of encouragement, fear, and excitement as the cold night air whistled in his ears.

He had previously enjoyed stunning views of the castle at midnight during Astronomy lessons, but it was incomparable to the freedom and leisure of free flight. He climbed higher and higher, until Hogwarts was a massive black fortress showered in tiny specks of light and the lake was a shimmering sheet of ice. His ears were ringing now, yet he could hear Cedric's muffled shouts.

Had he flown too high up? A glacial mist enveloped them, and Harry thought he had climbed into the clouds without realizing it, but Cedric was shifting anxiously behind him, and he plunged one hand into Harry's robes. In an instant they were surrounded by a dozen hooded figures, materializing out of the fog, their putrid stench and rattling breath filling the air. His mother's familiar screams rang in Harry's head once more. His vision clouded as the dementors swooped in, his stomach heaved, and he felt Cedric's grip tighten firmly around his chest when he began to teeter.

"_Expecto Patronum!_" Harry heard Cedric shout, mutedly, as though through a glass door, and from the tip of Harry's wand burst a silver Labrador. It charged the dementors, and they recoiled at its approach. The dog circled the Firebolt as Cedric seized control of it, and Harry felt his mother's screams subside, strength flooding back into his body. They were falling rapidly, the treetops of the Forbidden Forest looming closer.

The dementors scattered, the light of the silver Lab winked out, and they landed haphazardly in a small clearing.

Harry lay spread-eagled on the cold hard ground. His temples pulsed painfully, his every bone throbbed, and he allowed Cedric to guide him gently back on his feet.

It was a curious part of the forest Harry had never seen, bearing some resemblance to the fairy glades Hagrid seldom mentioned. A bright cerulean glow permeated their surroundings with no apparent source. Fluorescent moss hung thickly from the green canopy overhead, soaking in the light of the full moon. He could hear the sounds of rushing streams, though there were no visible bodies of water, and leaping red toadstools littered the edge of the clearing, seemingly engrossed in whispered conversation with one another. Harry had lost his slippers, and the dewy grass tickled the soles of his feet.

"What is this place?" Harry gasped, turning to Cedric, whose grass-stained chest was riddled with angry welts, his dark hair in disarray.

"I don't really know," he answered, oddly serene. "Cho and I have been coming here every few months since last year, under different circumstances. It was the only place I could think of where the dementors wouldn't follow us. It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Harry said, struggling not to imagine Cedric alone here with Cho, in what was possibly the most romantic place in Hogwarts. He tried to think of something, anything, else, and the silver Labrador manifested in his mind's eye. "That dog... It looked like those silver things Sprout and Snape use when they're on guard duty."

"It's called a Patronus," Cedric said, handing Harry's wand back to him. "It's the only thing dementors fear. I'm surprised I could conjure one with a foreign wand, it's very difficult magic. I must've left mine back in the changing room."

"Patronus..." Harry tasted the word. If there was a way to combat dementors, why had no one told him about it?

"I think I know what you're thinking, Harry," Cedric said softly, sounding bizarrely like Hermione, "but the Patronus Charm is too advanced for your age. You could hurt yourself if you're not ready. Let's go back to the castle. If the dementors alert the staff and they realize you're missing—"

"No, I wanna try it." He wanted to do it while he still felt the rush of adrenaline, yet he spoke more bravely than he felt. Cedric's eyes bored into him for a long time, warm and cold and knowing.

"Picture a memory," the Hufflepuff said at last, moving closer to the younger boy. His right hand wrapped around Harry's, guiding the phoenix feather wand through the air in intricate motions, "the happiest you've ever been. Hold on to that memory. Clear everything else from your mind." He was whispering now. His sultry breath made Harry's spine shiver again; the pulsing in his temples resumed. "Expecto Patronum."

"_Expecto Patronum!_" Harry echoed. He opened the eyes he hadn't realized he'd closed in time to catch the shimmering silver shield emanating from the tip of his wand. Its light banished all shadows, and in the next instant, it was gone. Harry's knees buckled. His limp body came to rest against Cedric's, a pillar of gleaming marble by comparison.

"Harry, that was extraordinary!" Cedric crooned, sounding as winded as Harry felt. "That is some seriously advanced stuff! It wasn't corporeal, but it's far more than a beginner should be able to manage, especially on your first try. How—"

"I thought of you," Harry said quickly, without thinking, before he could stifle his feelings with logic and guilt and cowardice. "Of this moment. Of tonight. Of you holding me right now. And I'm sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. I know it's stupid, for a million reasons, but I'd rather you knew now than continue with whatever this is."

Cedric's expression was unreadable. He was quiet for a long time, and Harry disentangled himself from him and sat at the base of a sturdy ash tree, nestling in the mottled roots. He buried his face in his knees as the last dregs of adrenaline left him, and as the silence drew out he grew increasingly uneasy.

"Harry," the prefect said finally, "if I have done anything to give you the wrong impression," Harry's heart sank, "I am so sorry. I thought it would be good for you to have a—a friend, or—"

"I have plenty of friends, and more than enough pity."

"I'm sorry, Harry, but... Even if I could return your feelings, I'm with Cho." Harry said nothing, and Cedric went on. "I should've realized—It was insensitive of me not to—"

"It doesn't matter," Harry said flatly. "I said what I needed to say. I'm ready to go back to the castle."

"Please, let me—"

A low growl came from the brush beyond the clearing. Harry bounded to his feet, and Cedric was quick to step in front of him.

"_Lumos!_" Harry aimed the golden beam in the direction of the sound, but its light found nothing. For a wild moment he thought they must've imagined it, but a deafening silence had stolen over the area. The talking toadstools had ceased their chatter, their glowing caps trembling as they leapt away from the clearing.

A screeching howl rent the night, and everything happened at once.

Cedric shoved Harry so forcefully against the ash tree that it seemed his head might split open. The ensuing ringing in his ears drowned out all other sound; specks of light swam before his eyes, yet Cedric's outline was visible through the haze, locked in combat with the colossal wolf. Harry lunged blindly for his wand. A human scream curdled his blood, burned his lungs and brought sick to his mouth.

Harry's fingers closed upon the wand. Willing himself to his knees, he pointed it at Cedric, whose mangled forearm was the lone barrier between the wolf and his jugular, and screamed, "_Relashio!_"

There was a muffled yelp as the wolf was blasted backward. Two robed figures burst into the clearing, but Harry had eyes for no one but Cedric, who was bleeding profusely from deep gashes across his chest.

Harry collapsed again, and the world went dark.


End file.
